


The Slytherin Hufflepuff & The Slytherin Gryffindor

by dysonrules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 06:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16131917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/pseuds/dysonrules
Summary: This story is posted as two different stories in most places, but it's really meant to be one so I've decided to meld it back together here and finally get it posted. It's epilogue compliant, for the most part. I wanted to explore what the world might be like for the next generation, when the looming horror of Voldemort was no longer a threat. I also like the idea of children finding reasons to be crafty and resourceful even without a big evil to fight.I'm also editing the hell out of this because, damn, the original was rough. LOL





	1. First Meeting & Reunion

They met, quite by accident, when they were eight years old, on the day Al's father took him to Diagon Alley to look for a book. Al was quite excited to be on an outing with his father, as it was rare for the two of them to be alone. Al's father let him pick out a book, gave him an affectionate pat on the head, and quickly disappeared into the dark shelves. Al gripped the latest version of Quidditch Through the Ages and looked for a quiet place to sit down and read. He knew his father could spend hours browsing the stacks of books when he was looking for something in particular, especially if it was a gift for Aunt Hermione.

Al noticed a thin, blond-haired boy seated in a nearby window alcove. The boy sat cross-legged with a huge book in his lap. Every so often, he would reach up and tuck an elusive silver-blond strand of hair behind one ear, even though it would slip back down to lie against his cheek almost immediately. Al watched him for a bit, impressed with the boy's concentration. He was fascinating, with that amazing straight hair, pale skin, and impeccable blue robes. He looked… regal. Al was suddenly conscious of his rumpled robes and his hair that constantly stuck up in all the wrong places.

Despite that, Al took a deep breath and walked forward. He sat down next to the boy and was almost mesmerized when the boy's eyes met his in surprise. They were quite an astonishing shade of grey.

"Hi," Al said and smiled.

The boy surveyed him for a moment. He seemed to be calculating the possible consequences of giving Al a simple greeting. Al held his breath. The boy seemed very thoughtful and serious. "Hi," he said finally. Al grinned happily, assuming he had passed some sort of test that allowed him to be acknowledged. He immediately crossed his legs, bumped his knee into the boy's, and plopped Quidditch Through the Ages on his lap, mirroring the boy's pose.

"What's your name?" Al asked.

"Scorpius," the boy replied. Al's grin widened and he nearly guffawed. The silver eyes narrowed.

"You think my name is funny?" Scorpius snapped.

Al shook his head. "Don't worry, it's not  _half_  as funny as mine. I'm Albus."

The angry look left the blond's face, and his lips twitched in amusement. "Really? Albus?"

Al grimaced. "Yeah, and my middle name is even worse. My friends call me Al. Pleased to meet you," Al said, recalling the manners his mother had drummed into his head. He stuck out his hand, hoping it wasn't too dirty. The blond looked at it for a moment and then gripped it lightly. Albus squeezed. Scorpius squeezed back. Al squeezed harder and so did Scorpius. Soon they were attempting to crush each other's hand bones. Al began to laugh and after a moment, Scorpius did, too.

"On the count of three," Al said, feeling his fingertips going numb, "We both let go."

"Three," said Scorpius. They both released their aching hands and Al giggled so hard he nearly fell forward off the seat. Scorpius chuckled, and Al thought he looked awfully nice when he smiled.

"Do you have a nickname?" he asked.

"No. Just Scorpius."

"Can I call you Score?"

The blond shrugged. "I suppose. If you like." He returned his focus to the book in his lap and Al felt like he'd been dismissed.

At that moment, the sound of raised voices came to them. Al looked up in surprise, recognizing his father's voice. His father marched out of the shelves, looking angrier than Al had seen him in a long time. A tall man who looked remarkably like Scorpius followed him. He looked just as angry as Al's father.

"Back off, Malfoy!" Al's father hissed. The blond man put a hand out and grabbed his shoulder to spin him around. Al's eyes widened. He had never seen anyone dare to touch his father in anger. Not ever. Not only did the man grab his shoulder, but also clenched both fists into Al's father's robes and slammed him against the nearest bookshelf, making several of the books topple over. Al wondered why his father didn't reach for his wand and hex the man into a toad.

Al looked at Scorpius, who was staring at the angry men with the same astonishment that Al felt. Al stared back at the blond man and felt a horrible sinking, sensation. The man had to be Score's father. The enraged blond man leaned forward and snarled something inaudible into Al's father's ear. His father closed his eyes as though to block out whatever the man said. Al knew that trick.  _La la la, I can't hear you_. It never really worked, though, not unless you stuck your fingers into your ears at the same time. And Al's father's hands were clenched into fists.

He raised those fists suddenly, but instead of hitting Score's father, he opened his hands and pushed against the man's chest, shoving him backward. The two men glared daggers at each other for long moments.

"My dad," Al whispered miserably.

"Mine, too," Score replied just as quietly.

"I don't think they like each other."

"Scorpius," the blond man said loudly. "Come along."

Score closed his book and got to his feet. He looked at Al with an expression of shared commiseration, and then followed the billowing dark cloak of his father as the man swept out of the store.

Al got up and walked to his father, who smiled at Al, even though he still seemed shaken by whatever Score's father had said.

"Who was that?"

"Draco Malfoy," Al's father said quietly. "An old… friend from school."

Scorpius Malfoy. Now that he knew Score's full name, Al decided he would send him an owl. Just because their fathers did not get along didn't mean Al couldn't talk to his new friend, right? He'd check with Rose, first, of course, just to be sure. She was so much smarter than Al. She would know what to do.

**Reunion**

Draco flipped through the book idly and then returned it to the shelf. He perused the nearby titles and scowled in annoyance. Why did he even bother looking here? He would most likely have to put in a special order.

Movement snagged his attention and he turned to see another patron of the bookstore midway down the aisle. The man was intently examining a shelf of books with his head tipped slightly upward. Draco admired the man's profile, thinking it had been a long time since he had seen anyone quite so delicious. The man had exquisite features, a straight nose and jaw, beautiful cheekbones, a throat that begged to be kissed, and a slender, fit body that looked infinitely shaggable, even partially hidden by dark robes. A mop of thick black hair adorned his head, making him look like he had just rolled out of bed after a long night of dissolute behavior.

Draco sighed regretfully. Anyone that good-looking had to be taken, and was most likely married to some shrewish female that wouldn't have the first clue how to keep a man like that happy. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say. Draco walked over to the man, silent as a shadow, and reached over the brunet's shoulder to rest a hand against the shelf, partially trapping his prey. They were of a height, Draco noted.

"Looking for something in particular?" Draco asked huskily.

The man stiffened slightly, but did not move away. "Erm… Not really, I'm just browsing."

Draco's eyes flicked to the subject matter, and then back to the man's nape. Draco enjoyed the way the midnight hair curled slightly where it touched the man's collar. He longed to put his fingers into it and feel the texture. He had always had a thing for brunets. "Looking into Archaic Magic, then?"

"I like to research obscure spells. You never know when they might come in handy." The man's voice was just as fascinating as the rest of him—low and almost sensuous.

"That's quite a coincidence. I have a huge library full of obscure spell books," Draco said, feeling the man's hair tickle against his lips gently as he spoke. He breathed in the heady scent emanating from him—the man smelled like someone who spent a lot of time outdoors, windblown and somewhat wild. Draco wanted to tip the man's head aside, taste his pale neck, and work his way downward from there.

"Do you work here?" the man asked and turned around, still partially trapped by Draco's arm. Their eyes met and Draco noted with surprise that his eyes were quite shockingly green, a color he hadn't seen since—

" _Malfoy_?" the man asked sharply.

Draco staggered back until his arse hit the shelves opposite. He gaped at the black-haired man.

" _Potter_?" he replied in the same shocked tone.

The two men stared at each other. How long had it been? Ten years? Twelve? And where the hell were those stupid spectacles the Chosen One usually wore? The hair that covered his forehead and touched the thick, black eyelashes effectively hid the famous scar.

"You look… different," Draco said, struggling for normalcy in a world gone suddenly insane. He had been trying to seduce Harry fucking Potter!

Potter nodded. "I don't need glasses any more. St. Mungo's came up with a spell that made them unnecessary."

Draco cursed himself. How could he not have known it was Potter? It should have been obvious from the hair alone. And of course he was fit, the prat was a bloody Auror, still the Golden Boy of the Ministry, although he was no longer a boy.  _Not by a long shot_ , Draco thought, raking his eyes over Potter's tense form.

Potter's green eyes narrowed and he straightened. "Were you trying to—?" Potter asked and then shook his head abruptly. "No, never mind." He turned and started to walk away.

"Was I what, Potter?" Malfoy demanded.

"I said never mind, Malfoy," Potter said and continued to march toward the front of the store. Draco felt a familiar flash of rage. Damn if Potter had lost his ability to make him see red! Draco stalked after the him.

"Running away, Potter?" Draco taunted just as they reached the end of the shelves and entered a small seating area flanked with window alcoves.

"Back off, Malfoy!" Potter snarled. Draco set his jaw and caught Potter on the shoulder. He spun Potter around, enraged without really knowing why. He grabbed the front of Potter's robes in both hands and shoved him against the end of a bookshelf. Several volumes fell over from the jolt.

Draco leaned close until his lips brushed against the Chosen One's soft earlobe. "Yes, Potter, I  _was_  trying to lure you into my bed," Draco said softly. "Because you looked like you haven't been properly fucked in a very long time…  _if ever_."

Draco pulled back and noted with satisfaction that Potter's eyes were tightly closed and there was a distinct unevenness to his breathing. Then Potter raised his hands and shoved hard against Draco's chest. Draco stumbled back and met Potter's enraged glare with a challenging smirk. Draco suddenly noticed Scorpius and another boy talking quietly in a window seat nearby. The children had witnessed the exchange, something Draco would never have allowed under normal circumstances. Of course, nothing involving Potter ever seemed to be "normal circumstances".

"Scorpius," Draco said sharply, "Come along."

Without another glance at Potter, Draco swept out of the bookstore. Scorpius trailed obediently behind.

~~*~~

Draco paced the Malfoy library from the window to the fireplace and back again. He could feel Scorpius watching him curiously. Draco forced himself to breathe deeply and relax. He smiled at his son.

"So… you seem to have made a friend," Draco commented.

Scorpius shrugged. "Perhaps. His name is Albus."

Draco recoiled and then reprimanded himself. For fuck's sake, why did he always allow Harry Potter to affect him? Of course, this was the first time he had been overcome with lust because of the idiot…

"Albus Potter?" Draco asked quietly.

"He didn't mention his last name. Who was that man?"

"His name is Harry Potter. I'm sure you'll hear all about him once you get to Hogwarts." Draco was pleased to note his tone did not sound the least bit sarcastic. "Run along now, Scorpius. I have some research to do."

Scorpius nodded solemnly and went out without a word. Draco looked after him for a moment, suddenly wondering if Scorpius spent too much time alone. Draco remembered feeling terribly lonely as a child. Was he doomed to make the same mistakes his parents had made? Did he keep Scorpius trapped in this mausoleum alone too often? Draco hurried to the doorway and called after Scorpius, who turned and lifted a brow in a motion so familiar it made Draco's heart ache.

"Would you like to go to Paris this evening? We'll have dinner and find something interesting to do afterward."

The brilliant smile on his son's face made Draco lean against the doorway for a moment, nearly overcome with adoration and pride. Martinique was a vicious bitch, but she had given him Scorpius. For that, he would gladly pay her bills and support her self-indulgent habits. As Scorpius nodded, Draco vaguely wondered at his wife's whereabouts, and then returned to the library. He cast a quick spell at the cabinet containing his archived Daily Prophets.

"Show me every issue with an article about Harry Potter going back… three years."

Draco was appalled at the size of the stack of papers that flew to the top of his desk.

"The famous Harry Potter," he murmured as he sat down. He lifted the most recent volume from the pile. "Let's see what you've been up to lately."

 


	2. Clandestine Affairs & Quidditch

**Stalking Harry Potter**

It took Draco four months to realize he was stalking Harry Potter and another three months after that to admit he was obsessed. Once he accepted it as fact, he found it easier to acquire information, probably because he wasn't fighting himself at every turn. He learned everything there was to know about the public life of the Chosen One, most of which Draco already knew. Potter was, of course, married to his childhood sweetheart, Ginevra Weasley. They had three children, James, Albus, and Lily. In between expelling children, Ginny played Quidditch and worked part-time at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley. She had not played Quidditch at all for the past two years, citing an old injury as her reason for retirement. Draco suspected she was simply not quite good enough to keep up with the younger players.

Harry Potter had worked at the Ministry since leaving Hogwarts, first tracking down former Death Eaters and eventually righting other types of wrongs for the Ministry. He had gone through a succession of partners, Ron Weasley among them, until Weasley had left the Auror Department and accepted a post in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The on-record reason for that change stated that his wife, the esteemed Hermione Granger, had preferred he take a less dangerous job after the birth of their first child, Rose. Draco thought it far more likely the Weasel finally realized he would never measure up to Potter and finally stopped trying.

Granger, of course, worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and spent an inordinate amount of time investigating Draco in the vain hope of turning up something illegal. Unfortunately for Granger, she would always be several paces behind Draco, especially without Potter's luck guiding her footsteps. Potter was extremely dedicated to both his family and his career, and was universally loved by all. Draco snorted. Thus he concluded his research into Harry Potter's public persona.

Potter's private life was more difficult to uncover.

Scorpius had turned into a genuine Malfoy, surreptitiously arranging meetings with his new friend, Albus Potter. Draco had intercepted several owls from young Potter, and had willingly acquiesced to Scorpius's requests to travel to Diagon Alley for various reasons. It did the boy good to have a friend, even if that friend bore an uncomfortable resemblance to his father. It also boosted Scorpius's confidence to think that he maneuvered Draco to achieve his own ends.

Draco was loathe to pry information from his own son, especially when he was pretending not to know about Albus Potter, but he was damned curious to know the status of Harry Potter's personal affairs. Draco could not even scheme properly until he had the answer to that particular question.

The answer to Draco's dilemma arrived at the Manor for Christmas dinner. Draco had encountered Teddy Lupin several times, but had never had much use for the lad, until now. Draco's mother, Narcissa, had made peace with her sister, Andromeda. It had taken several years after the war, and months after Lucius died, for Narcissa's loneliness to become nearly overwhelming. The presence of Scorpius had helped, and Narcissa was far more of a mother to the boy than Martinique, but Draco knew she needed feminine companionship.

Even so, Draco had been surprised when his Aunt Andromeda had appeared at the Manor one afternoon, but she seemed to be just as wounded as Narcissa. Eventually, the two of them had become nearly inseparable. Andromeda Tonks was a frequent visitor to the Manor these days. Teddy Lupin's presence was much rarer.

"Cousin Ted," Draco said after guiding the teenager into the library after dinner. "You are quite close to the Potters, are you not?"

Teddy gazed at him warily and scratched his head with a finger. His hair was platinum blond, which Draco thought was rather unusual considering his brown-haired father.

"Sure," the boy said finally. Draco smiled. He was almost as wary as a Malfoy.

"You will finish Hogwarts next year, correct? Have you given any thought as to your career choice?"

Teddy sat up quickly and his brown eyes brightened. "I want to be an Auror, like my mum."

Draco nodded thoughtfully, and wondered how much of that desire was due to Potter's intervention. "Perhaps Harry Potter's influence can help you there, eh?"

Teddy shook his head. "Oh no. Uncle Harry would never do that. He says we have to earn our way." Teddy flushed. "He has been teaching me some advanced spells, though. He says Professor Lovegood is a good teacher, but she doesn't always teach things that would be useful in the real world."

Draco bit back several unkind comments and managed to say nothing. Luna Lovegood teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts was an act that surely defied the laws of nature. Luckily, Scorpius would receive plenty of training in that particular field right here at home.

Draco shook his head sadly. "A pity. If I worked in the Ministry, I would certainly use whatever means necessary to help you out."

Teddy grinned. "Thanks, Cousin Draco. I should be able to manage on my own. Of course, I still have to finish school, and then pass the Auror exams." A look of consternation crossed his face. "I just hope Victoire will wait for me to get a job. I won't be able to buy a house or anything until then…"

"Girlfriend?" Draco asked, although he already knew that Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley were a couple. They had been since childhood, apparently. Draco had seen Bill Weasley's daughter several times. Victoire was a true beauty, obviously acquiring her looks from her French mother rather than her ginger father, although Bill Weasley had been quite handsome in his younger days.

Draco sat forward, as if suddenly inspired by a thought. "How would you like to work for me?" he asked.

Teddy blinked at him. "But… I…" He took a breath. "Thank you, cousin, but I really want to try for an Auror position."

Draco chuckled. "You can still do that, of course. I meant right now. You can do odd jobs for me and I'll pay you. You can start saving for that house early."

Young Lupin shot to his feet. "You mean it? What sort of odd jobs? Of course I'll work for you, as long as it's not illegal! I've heard Auntie Hermione nattering on about you a time or two…" Teddy flushed.

Draco waved his comments away. "Errands, mostly. Fear not, I'll keep you busy. You can work for me here during your holiday breaks, and also during the summer. I'll require you to be here three days a week during the summer, possibly more."

They discussed salary and other trivialities and when Teddy left, Draco sat back with a smug sense of satisfaction. He had just purchased an informant.

**Clandestine Affairs**

Scorpius Malfoy, as it turned out, was a genius. After Al's first owl message, Score had come up with several secretive ways for them to communicate, beginning with sending owls to each other in the dead of night. It was harder for Al to get owls than Score, because Al shared a house with James Potter, the snoopiest brother alive. Though he was loath to do it, Al was forced to incinerate all of his notes from Score because James would have found them. James would then have blackmailed Al into doing his chores for the next million years.

Score was the one that came up with the brilliant plan for them to meet. The next time Score's father planned a shopping trip to Diagon Alley, Score owled Al and told him to arrange a trip at the same time. They would meet at Fortescue's Ice Cream Shop. Al was so excited he nearly gave the game away by making James suspicious. His brother looked at him and sneered.

"Why so eager to go to Diagon Alley, Al-butt?" he asked.

Al shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I want to see if there are any new Quidditch books at Luna's."

James sneered, as expected. The day his brother willingly picked up a  _book_  was the day Al would eat a Thestral. "You're so weird."

"Not as weird as  _you_ ," Al retorted carelessly.

James hurtled across the room and pounded Al's head against the floor. "Take. It. Back," James said, whacking Al's head with each word.

"I take it back!" Al squealed, seeing stars. James was such a freaking brute.

His brother climbed off and dusted his hands with satisfaction. "Bring me some sweets from Fortescue's, or you die," James warned and left the room.

"Sure. Poisoned ones. Ass-hat," Al muttered and rubbed his aching head. Why couldn't he have been an only child, like Score?

~~*~~

Scorpius sat at a corner table. Before him hovered a large dish of chocolate ice cream. Al happily slid into the seat next to him and grabbed the pale hand that rested on the table. He laced their fingers together and squeezed. Score looked at him in surprise. He tried to detach his hand, but Albus held tight.

"Boys don't hold hands," Score drawled.

"Why not? Girls do. Why is it okay to shake hands, but not hold them?"

"It's just not. When boys hold hands, people say they're poufters."

"What's that?"

"Boys that like other boys," Score explained in a tone that suggested Al was an idiot.

"But I  _do_  like you."

Score sighed and rolled his eyes. "Not like that. Like, boyfriends. You know, snogging and all that mushy stuff."

Al wrinkled his nose. "Ew, that's gross! Snogging is disgusting! Teddy and Victoire do it all the time. They make these slurping sounds and moan at each other. It looks wet and sloppy to me." Al shuddered.

Score shrugged. "Well, that's what people will think."

Al set his jaw stubbornly. "I don't care what people think." He squeezed Score's hand more tightly.

"Well, I do, so let go."

Al tossed his head, but released Scorpius. "All right. If you're afraid."

Scorpius glared at him. "I never said I was afraid!"

"Of course you are. You're afraid of what people will think."

Scorpius snatched Al's hand and squeezed it until Al's knuckles creaked painfully. Al refrained from wincing, barely.

"There. Are you happy now, you obstinate prat?"

Al did not know what obstinate meant, but he grinned and nodded. With his left hand, he picked up the spoon and took a large bite of Score's ice cream. The platinum-haired boy looked at him with an unreadable expression. "I don't know why I want to be your friend. You're insufferable, really."

Al did not know what insufferable meant, either, but he knew Score wasn't serious. "You want to be my friend because you're lonely in that big old house by yourself."

"I am not lonely," Scorpius said, but his hand stopped trying to turn Al's into jelly.

"Well,  _I_ am, and I have a brother and sister. I can't wait until schools starts and James is gone. Be glad you don't have an older brother." Al dropped the spoon and rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head. He must remember to buy James sweets or he would have a matching wound on the  _front_  of his head.

"I can't wait until school starts for us," said Scorpius.

"You are going to Hogwarts, right?"

"Yes. Mother wanted to send me to Durmstrang, but Father wouldn't hear of it."

Al was relieved, and mentally thanked Score's father, even though he was mean to Al's father and shoved him into bookshelves. "What House do you think you'll be in?"

Score shrugged. "Slytherin, of course. All the Malfoys have been in Slytherin."

Al was horrified for a moment. James had told him terrible stories about Slytherins. And Uncle Ron was constantly mentioning "that evil Slytherin git" although which one he referred to varied. "I don't really care, as long as it isn't Hufflepuff."

"What's wrong with Hufflepuff?" Al asked.

"They're sheep," Scorpius explained. "Idiots, the lot of them. Their only redeeming quality is loyalty and they'll throw their lot in with anyone willing to lead. March dead off a cliff, I'll bet. Loyal to the end."

"Interesting. They would make an excellent army, wouldn't they?"

Scorpius looked at him critically. "You know, Al, you're smarter than you look. Maybe you'll be sorted into Ravenclaw."

Al nearly laughed. James always called Al an idiot. No way he was smart enough to be a Ravenclaw. "I'll probably end up in Gryffindor. James is a Gryffindor. And Mum and Dad were Gryffindors. And Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione. And Teddy. Uncle George and Uncle Bill. Oh yes, and Uncle Charlie. And Percy…"

Scorpius laughed and Al stared at him in amazement. He had never heard Score laugh aloud before. He had a great laugh. Al joined in just from the sound of it.

Score's laugh silenced abruptly as his gaze shifted out the glass door. "Father is coming. I'll owl you next time we plan to come to Diagon Alley." He gave Al's hand another squeeze, jumped up, and went outside before Draco Malfoy could enter. Their greeting seemed stiff and formal to Al, who would have leaped on his father with a huge hug, but then he saw the elder Malfoy grip his son's shoulder. No exuberance, but affection, at least.

~~*~~

Al and Score met clandestinely several times after that. Twice in the ice cream parlour, once at the bookstore, and once at the Quidditch World Cup, shortly before both were scheduled to attend Hogwarts. Their families were seated not far from each other, although the riotous Potter-Weasley clan was a loud contrast to the pale, reserved Malfoys. Albus thought they all looked beautiful—pale and aloof, like expensive statues.

Scorpius caught Al's eye and made an obscure gesture. Al excused himself to use the lavatory, but his mother insisted he take Lily along. Al pouted in annoyance, but complied.

"Score! The World Cup! Isn't it exciting?"

"Not really. My team is not playing, so I don't care who wins. Who is your little shadow?"

Lily glared. "I'm no shadow. I'm his sister. Who are you?"

"Never mind, Lily. Just use the damn toilet and hurry it up."

"I'm telling Mum you said a bad word!"

Al stuck his tongue out at her. Lily did the same and marched away. Al rolled his eyes. "Be glad you're an only child," he said. Score smiled and Al laughed aloud. He leaned close and touched Score's hand with a quick squeeze. "Just think, Score! We'll be at school soon! Then we can be together  _every day_."

"Unless we're in different Houses," Scorpius said.

Al sobered. "Yeah, but we'll still have classes together, right?"

"Probably."

Al was quiet, knowing it was likely that he would be in Gryffindor and Scorpius would be in Slytherin. They would make friends in their own houses and see each other rarely. Al was suddenly annoyed at the unfairness of it. If only their fathers didn't hate each other, they would at least be able to see one another away from school.

"Why does your dad hate mine, anyway?" Al asked quietly, wishing there were some way to force the Sorting Hat into putting them into the same house.

"I don't know. Why does yours hate mine?"

Al shrugged. "Maybe we should ask them."

Lily returned and glared at them both.

"I should go," said Score. "See you on the Hogwarts Express."

Al grinned. "That's right! I'll meet you in the last car. Wait, make that the second to the last car. James always sits in the last car and we  _don't_  want to be with him."

Scorpius bowed slightly to Lily. "Pleased to meet you, Al's sister. Bye, Al."

He sauntered away and Lily looked up at Al. "I guess he's not so bad," she admitted. Al grinned before yanking at her hair ribbon and running back to the stands with Lily in angry pursuit.

**Quidditch Queue**

Draco saw Harry Potter several times after the incident at the bookstore, but always from a distance. He wondered if Potter intentionally avoided him, and decided it was likely. Regardless of how many times Draco saw the Potter, Potter never seemed to see Draco. One notable exception occurred at the Quidditch World Cup, the summer before Scorpius was due to start school.

Draco sat in a higher box than Potter, who had the best pitch-side seats near Minister Shacklebolt. _Ever the celebrity_ , Draco sneered to himself. He alternately watched the game and Harry Potter, adding to his mental list of information about the Potter. Teddy had been a valuable font of information, but he tended toward taciturn silence in response to questions about Potter's personal relationships. Draco knew nearly everything there was to know about Potter's past, but his present remained a mystery. Draco realized he should have sought out Potter in a public setting—not that such an opportunity often presented itself. Potter's social life seemed to revolve around the Ministry and his children, to the exclusion of all else. It was such a waste.

Watching Potter with his family was enlightening. Potter did not sit beside his wife; the young auburn-haired daughter sat between them. Potter's copy—Scorpius's friend Albus—sat on the other side of Potter, and then the older brother, whose hair was dark brown. Quite the collection, but at least the boys had been spared the Weasley calling card. Draco noted no touches between the adult Potters—no hand clasping, no brushing of shoulders, no quick touches to draw attention to something on the pitch. They might have been strangers for all they interacted. Interesting, considering they were supposed to be in  _love_. Draco glanced at his own wife, seated on the other side of Scorpius. Draco smiled as he acknowledged that he would not touch Martinique for all the galleons in Potter's vault. Draco had already done his husbandly duty once; he suppressed a shudder at the memory.

Martinique's cold green eyes slanted toward him and she pasted a false smile on her beautiful lips. She despised Quidditch, but her contract with Draco required that she attend a minimum of four public functions with him per year. She knew how to play the role of perfect wife and dutiful mother. She had better, for what Draco paid her.

Draco dismissed her to watch Potter again. Potter rose—alone—and headed out, probably to seek out the loo. Draco got to his feet and followed. The line for the row of toilets was fairly long—this was the World Cup, after all, and the weather was nice enough to ensure record attendance. Draco maneuvered himself until he stood directly behind Harry Potter.

He leaned into Potter slightly and touched his lips to the back of Potter's ear.

"Having fun, Potter?" he asked and suppressed a chuckle when Potter stiffened.

"Malfoy," Potter said politely and tried to step away without crowding into the bloke in front of him. "Yes, having a lovely time. You?" Draco moved closer. He touched as much of Potter as he could get away with and drank in the scent of Potter's hair.

"I'm having fun now," Draco purred. His hand moved between them to rest gently on the small of Potter's back. He had been admiring that back as the game progressed, and felt it only fair that he should be allowed to touch it in tribute. Potter obviously felt otherwise, but he was trapped.

"What are you doing?" he snarled.

Draco's fingers splayed and curved over the flesh covered only by a thin Muggle t-shirt. Draco had never been a fan of Muggle clothing, but now he saw the merit in a quick tug that would expose Potter's warm skin to Draco's questing hand. And the jeans cupping that amazing arse… fuck, Draco was getting hard.

"Haven't been touched in awhile, Potter?"

Potter spun around angrily, obviously hoping to dislodge Draco's hand, but the movement backfired. Draco's palm stayed flat against Potter and ended up pressed into his abdomen instead. Potter's green eyes widened and Draco reflected that they were so much brighter and darker than Martinique's. He wondered if Potter's lenses made his eyes look so large and wild now that he was wearing them again.

"I thought you did not wear glasses any longer," Draco commented and the question seemed to diffuse whatever remark Potter had meant to make. He glanced around, likely recalling that he was a famous figure. No one in the milling crowd paid him any mind, intent on attaining snacks and beverages, or relieving themselves before rushing back to the game.

"I wear them for public appearances," Potter said. "They're cosmetic."

Draco sneered, although he had not meant to. "The trials of celebrity," he drawled. His fingers itched to move down over Potter's waistband, but he knew such an action would get him hexed insensible.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "I don't find you at all amusing, Malfoy," he snapped. "Get your hand off me."

"You just don't know me, Potter," Draco replied softly. "I'm very amusing." His fingers traced lightly over Potter's shirt, wishing he could Vanish the material. It might be worth a hex or two.

"I don't want to know you, Malfoy. Now sod off."

With that, Potter left the queue and stomped off into the crowd. He ignored Draco for the remainder of the World Cup and disappeared with his family immediately thereafter.

 


	3. Hogwarts & Hufflepuffs

**Hogwarts**

Al fidgeted nervously while he waited to board the train. He craned his neck now and again, trying to spot Scorpius through the crowd of taller people in his way. James was bouncing like an idiot, waving to everyone he even vaguely recognized. James was the most popular boy at school, at least according to James. Rose Weasley stood next to Al, looking as nervous as he felt. He only wanted to be in Gryffindor if Score was there also, and it was a good bet Score would be in Slytherin. James had been terrifying Al all morning with stories about the  _evil_  children in Slytherin House, and suggesting that Al might be sorted there.

The steam cleared for a moment and Al caught sight of Scorpius. His relief was nearly crushing. He had been terrified that Score's father had changed his mind and decided to send him to Durmstrang. Al smiled widely and a tiny smile touched Score's lips before he pretended to ignore Al.

Uncle Ron made a joke about disinheriting Rose if she was not sorted into Gryffindor, giving Al a moment of panic. "He doesn't mean it," Aunt Hermione said, and Al's mother agreed, giving Uncle Ron a poke. He straightened and moved closer to Al's dad.

"Look who it is," Uncle Ron said as the steam thinned again.

Both Al and his father turned to look at Draco Malfoy and Scorpius. Al noticed a beautiful, thin, blond woman standing with them. Al's forehead wrinkled. Was the woman Score's mother? She looked a lot like Al's father, so perhaps she was another relative, like an aunt. She wasn't fussing over Score the way Al's mother was fussing over Lily, tucking her scarf around her neck to keep it from blowing away.

Uncle Ron advised Rose to beat Scorpius in every test, earning a glare from Al. What did Uncle Ron have against Score? Al nearly asked, but Aunt Hermione lectured Uncle Ron until he apologized. James returned from wherever he'd bounced off to in a complete tizzy, going on about Cousin Teddy kissing Cousin Victoire. Al rolled his eyes. Who cared about kissing? He just wanted to get on the train and see Score. James kicked at Al, made an obnoxious comment, and boarded the train. Al's mother kissed him, and then Al's father hugged him, hard.

"What if I'm in Slytherin?" Al asked, reluctantly disturbed by James's warnings.

Al's father knelt down and Al looked into green eyes so like his own. His father spoke quietly, easing his fears about Slytherin House, and then revealed a secret that made excitement leap through Al's veins.  _The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account._

Al quickly boarded the train and hurried to the second to last car. He fidgeted impatiently until a familiar silver-blond head peered in. Scorpius grinned. "Al. I was afraid you would be in here with your hoards of relations."

"No, it's just us so far," Al said and shifted aside. Score sat beside him after stowing a small travel bag in the overhead compartment.

"Father insisted I bring some sweets from home. He says the food on the train is substandard."

Al thought that was terribly funny. His mother was a good cook, but Al thought train food would be a wonderfully amazing change from home-cooked meals. He grabbed Score's hand happily. "I can't believe we're finally going to Hogwarts! And wait until you hear what my father told me!" He repeated the news about the Sorting Hat considering the wearer's choices. "It's a  _secret_ , of course. My father never told anyone before, not even James! I know it, or James would have told me." Al felt terribly special about that.

Score looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, Al, that opens up a world of possibilities. It means we can be in any house we choose."

"And it means we can be together! Will you be in Gryffindor with me?"

Score laughed. "Certainly not. Gryffindor is for brave idiots."

Al pouted, recalling the taunts of James outside the train. He was terrified to be in Slytherin and almost hesitated to ask. "Not… not Slytherin?"

"I've been thinking about that, Al. My father has told me story after story of Slytherin House to prepare me. Frankly, they don't sound at all friendly. The chief trait of Slytherin seems to be to get ahead, and while I can certainly get on board with that, I hate to have so much bloody competition. It must get very tiresome, being on your toes all the time, fighting to be top dog. And once you  _are_  top dog, how do you stay there?"

Al nearly sighed with relief, although he was nearly as nervous at the next suggestion. "Ravenclaw, then? I told you, I don't think I'm smart enough."

Score made a snorting sound. "Of course you're smart enough. You're my friend, aren't you? That alone qualifies you for brilliance. However, I think I've found a better option for both of us. Hufflepuff."

"Huff… Hufflepuff?" Al was astounded. He'd been called a Hufflepuff as a curse word by his brother for the past year, every time he'd done something remotely stupid or annoying. "But you said they were…"

Score nodded. "Sheep, yes. But then I thought about what you said, that they would make the perfect army. Think of it, Al! We could rule Hufflepuff! With my brains, and your… well, whatever makes you  _you_ … we could take over Hufflepuff without a fuss. I would be their king, and you would be my…"

"…queen?" Al said dubiously, the first thing that came to mind.

Score socked him in the shoulder with his free hand. "No, you idiot! My right hand man. The king's champion."

"The king's champion," Al breathed, enraptured. Score's brilliance was beyond comprehension.

"Besides, I look stunning in yellow, and you… well, we'll just have to keep you in black, I suppose. Yellow will do nothing for your complexion and it won't highlight those green eyes of yours at all, but one cannot have everything. It's settled, then? We'll ask the bloody hat to put us in Hufflepuff?"

"Absolutely." Al smiled and thanked his stars that M came before P in the alphabet. Regardless of what house Scorpius ended up in, Al planned to spend his every instant under the hat begging to be placed in the same, even if it turned out to be Slytherin.

As it turned out, Al's father had been correct. Scorpius spent quite a long time beneath the hat before it finally yelled out, "Hufflepuff!" Al thought it sounded a bit confused. There were more than a few shocked murmurs throughout the hall, especially from the teacher's table. Al thought Professor Longbottom looked stunned as he watched Scorpius walk triumphantly to the yellow-bedecked table.

Al's turn came shortly thereafter, and as the oversized, battered thing darkened his vision, he heard a small voice in his ear. "Another Potter, eh? Always interesting, the Potters…"

"Hufflepuff," Al whispered desperately. "Hufflepuff, please. Oh please."

"Hufflepuff? Are you sure? You seem to know your own mind… Slytherin would take you far. Intelligent enough for Ravenclaw, you are, and brave… yes, bravery goes without saying…"

_Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff._

"Odd," the hat muttered. "You're the second boy ignoring my choices tonight, but if you insist, let it be… HUFFLEPUFF!"

Al nearly collapsed with relief and ignored the shout of horror coming from where his brother sat. He nearly threw the hat at the next student to be sorted and raced to the Hufflepuff table, where his new housemates welcomed him with slaps on the back and loud cheers. Al looked only at Scorpius, whose silvery eyes glowed with triumph as he held out his hand to Al.

He heard a recurring whisper from along the table, and it sounded excited and a bit awed. "We've got a Potter! A Potter!"

"We must send your father a thank you card," Score whispered with a chuckle as Al joined him on the bench. Under the table, Al gripped Score's hand tightly with barely suppressed excitement, and his friend did not try to pull away. "Bloody hat wanted to argue with me. Insisted I should go in Slytherin."

"It said Slytherin would take me far," Al murmured. "But that I could be in Ravenclaw, too."

Scorp grinned. "See? I knew you were smart."

Al's heart soared. Tomorrow, he would have to face his brother and explain to all of his sundry relatives why he was the only non-Gryffindor in the lot, but tonight he simply didn't care. Score's plan had worked brilliantly.

**Hufflepuffs**

The next time he saw Potter was on Platform Nine and Three-quarters on the first of September. Draco stood next to Scorpius. The boy tried to act calm and unruffled, but Draco knew his grey eyes were darting about, seeking familiar faces. The billowing steam prevented them seeing much of anything, but the Potter clan was heard long before they were seen. Draco recognized Ron Weasley's voice just as a familiar dark head emerged from the white cloud. The ginger shrew walked beside Potter, and their three children were in tow. Draco noticed his son lock eyes with Potter's middle child, and Albus grinned in sunny abandon. The smallest grin quirked Scorpius's lips in return.

Martinique stepped closer, but made no move to touch her son. Draco's jaw clenched. It had taken him three owls to remind her that she even  _had_  a son, and two more to persuade her to leave her latest boy-toy in Singapore and join them for Scorpius's sendoff. The Potter-Weasley children thundered about, tugging at their parents, yelling boisterously, and generally behaving like the blood-tainted uncultured louts they were. Draco was relieved to note an exception was Albus Potter. He stood next to a small version of Hermione Granger (Weasley), and seemed quite subdued.

Ron Weasley suddenly noticed Draco, and moved over to Potter with a comment. Potter's green eyes slowly turned toward Draco, who waited. Potter's face remained utterly expressionless, and Draco longed to drag him away, out of the public light, and provoke some emotion from the git. Even anger was preferable to indifference. Draco kept his own features still as marble, and gave Potter a cold nod before turning back to his son, dismissing the annoying man. The steam billowed, obligingly obscuring the Potters once more. Scorpius stuck out his hand toward Draco.

"Well, goodbye, Father," he said formally. Draco grinned at the stiff jaw of his son, trying so hard to be an adult. Draco knelt and scooped the boy into a hug.

"Idiot boy," Draco said affectionately, and squeezed Scorpius nearly to the breaking point. His son laughed in delight and squeezed back. "Write me often, and do not let me hear of any antics from the staff."

Scorpius nodded solemnly as he drew back. Any antics would be reported immediately to Draco from Scorpius's own hand. His son well understood that. Unpleasant surprises were not to be tolerated. Draco released him. "Next time I see you, you'll be wearing Slytherin green, no doubt. If not… well, we will take that as it comes."

A minute look of relief crossed his son's fine features, and Draco realized the boy had been quite worried about facing the Sorting Hat. Draco was not worried at all. Scorpius was a Slytherin through and through.

"Goodbye, Mother," Scorpius said as Draco stepped back. Martinique obediently leaned down and placed a cursory peck on her son's cheek. She moved away, duty fulfilled, and Scorpius turned and hurried to the train. Draco did not stand around like Potter and the other sentimental fools, waiting for the train to leave. He needed a drink. The Manor was going to be wretchedly empty without his son. Draco did not plan to face his first night of solitude sober.

Martinique was barely out of sight of the gathered wizarding families before she sneered at Draco and Disapparated. For a moment, Draco hoped never to see her again.

~~*~~

_Dear Father,_

_You might want to sit down before you read the rest of this letter._

A shard of fear slipped into Draco's chest and he nearly sat, until he sternly reminded himself that he was a Malfoy. Besides, Scorpius was eleven years old, and it was the second day of school. How much trouble could he have gotten into?

_I hope you will not be disappointed in me, but I was not sorted into Slytherin. In fact, I've been sorted into Hufflepuff._

Draco sat down. So great was his astonished horror that he nearly missed the seat.

_Hufflepuff_. He read the words again, hoping his eyes had deceived him.  _I've been sorted into Hufflepuff._

Draco got to his feet in a seething rage and paced the room like a caged puma.  _My son, a Hufflepuff_. He nearly incinerated the letter, but Scorpius had written more. Draco could not bring himself to read the rest.

_My son, the Hufflepuff._

Draco froze. It was Potter's doing. The Potter boy had gotten to Scorpius. All of those secret meetings that Draco had condoned came back to haunt him. The Potter boy had somehow turned Draco's beautiful Slytherin son into a fucking  _Hufflepuff_. In fact, it had probably been an elaborate plot engineered by Potter himself.

Draco Disapparated.

~~*~~

Draco marched into Potter's office at the Ministry, bypassing the hoard of underlings and clerical types that tried to stop him. Everyone knew where Potter's office was located—Draco had not even needed Teddy Lupin for that information. The Super Auror was actually at his desk. Draco assumed there was a momentary shortage of people to rescue.

"You are responsible for this, aren't you?" Draco demanded, thrusting Scorpius's letter under Potter's nose.

Potter's eyes—unspectacled again—flicked from Draco to the crowd of ineffectual minions hovering about the door. Potter waved them away casually, as though Draco was no threat at all, and they needn't worry for his safety. Draco glared, and itched to turn that assumption into a lie. Draco had over twenty years of pent-up need to be seen as a threat to Potter.

Potter sighed and his attention returned to scratching a quill to parchment. "Responsible for what, Malfoy?" he asked in a tired tone.

"This!" Draco gritted and shook the letter again. "My son has been sorted into _Hufflepuff_."

The green eyes rose to his and Potter dared to smile. "I know. I was quite shocked to hear it—though not as shocked as you, obviously. My son was also."

"I knew it was a plot!" Draco yelled.

Potter stood up and leaned over his desk. His green eyes flashed. "That's enough, Malfoy! I cannot believe you're this hung up on something so trivial!"

"Trivial?" Draco bellowed and then forced himself to lower his voice. He had already caused a scene. There was no sense in making it worse. "Trivial?" he hissed, planting his hands on the desk and leaning across to meet Potter halfway. "This is not trivial, Potter. The Malfoys have been in Slytherin since the founding of Hogwarts! Ravenclaw, I might have accepted, Gryffindor perhaps, but  _Hufflepuff_?" Draco's voice throbbed with intensity as he sought to convince the Auror of the importance of the situation. Potter did not seem impressed.

"You know, Malfoy, I think you are entirely too fixated on labels. You insist on pigeonholing everyone you meet into neat little categories. Slytherin, Gryffindor, Pure-blood, Mudblood. People cannot be boxed, Malfoy, they resist. It's human nature. You, of all people, should know that." Potter's sincere voice was mesmerizing. His eyes were like deep mountain pools, and his lips were close enough to kiss, if only Draco leaned forward a bit.

"What do you mean by that?" Draco asked softly, seeking meaning in Potter's words where perhaps there was none.

Potter shook his head and then seemed to realize the nearness of their faces. He drew back. "Never mind. Besides, Albus said the Hufflepuff thing was your son's idea." Potter sat back in his chair and picked up his quill. Draco reared back and pondered which of a dozen hexes would cause Potter the most pain, and yet allow Draco to escape the Ministry without arrest. Potter watched him coolly and the hint of a smile touched his lips, as if daring Draco to do just that.

Draco went home.

~~*~~

Draco felt like something of an idiot when he finally finished reading his son's letter. He poured a drink and sat in his favorite chair to ponder the news. He skimmed the parchment once more.

_Before you destroy anything in a rage…_  Draco smiled grimly. He had not destroyed anything, but he had made a complete arse of himself in front of Potter,  _…allow me to explain. I was informed that the Sorting Hat will take a student's choice into account…_  Draco scowled and wondered why the brat had not chosen Slytherin, if that were the case _. …and it occurred to me that spending seven years in Slytherin would involve constant effort, scheming, swindling, and maneuvering for position. Well did I recall your tales and advice, Father._  Draco nodded. He had tried to prepare his son for the intrigue and politics involved in being Slytherin.  _It seemed a far easier route would be to infiltrate the weakest house, dazzle them with my brilliance, and lead them out of their sheeplike existence. I shall become the greatest Hufflepuff ever known, and I shall lead them to victory._  Draco stared at the page like a loon and was heartily glad that no one was nearby to witness the expression _. They are like plums ripe for the plucking, Father, and the effort shall be minimal, especially when I have a faithful champion at my side who is no more Hufflepuff than I._ Draco's lips curved. Albus Potter, no doubt, coerced into Hufflepuff, but having the soul of a Gryffindor _. I shall rule Hufflepuff, for as you once told me, it is better to rule in hell than serve in heaven, and is not Hufflepuff House Hogwarts' version of hell? I await your response with hope of your understanding._

_With love, Scorpius._

Draco sipped at his Firewhiskey and thought about his son's brilliance. Truly, the boy was Slytherin beyond even Draco's wildest imagining. He had taken cunning and scheming to a new level. The Hufflepuff King.

Draco thought he might burst with pride.


	4. The Pureblood Club & Quidditch

~~**Confession** ~~

After a month, Draco realized he was slowly going mad. He actually lived for the weekly visits from Teddy Lupin, who was now a full-fledged Auror. As Teddy worked directly for Harry Potter, he was a veritable plethora of information. Draco knew every bloody move the Auror hero made. In detail.

"…and then Harry let fly with a hex I've never even seen before!" Teddy's face lit with a brilliant glow as his hands flashed in the air. He was describing a case he had recently been on with Potter—something involving a serial rapist who would Obliviate his victims. "He's so bloody fast, it's like watching a… a dance, or something! He's amazing, really amazing…" Teddy broke off, flushing. His worship of Potter had stopped irritating Draco long ago. In fact, he now found it rather endearing.

Teddy raised a hand to tug at his platinum hair in a gesture so reminiscent of Potter that Draco had to grin. Teddy smiled sheepishly. "Well, here I am again, going on about Harry," Teddy said. "He's just so…"

"Yes, yes, everyone adores the bloody Savior."

"Everyone but you."

"Oh, never fear. I adore Potter in my own way," Draco admitted.

"Draco, why do you always ask about Harry? I mean, you seem to hate him most of the time. At first, I thought you plotted his downfall, and later I thought you were simply curious about a life so different from you own… But now, I just don't know."

Draco sighed. He had known the day would come when Teddy would ask difficult questions. He was simply too smart. "Let's walk in the garden and I'll tell you."

The garden path was immaculate, as always, and Draco walked quickly to the lavender roses that had been his mother's favorite. He breathed in their heady scent for a moment, and allowed himself to be swept into boyhood memories. Teddy waited patiently and Draco sighed as he straightened.

"I've been obsessed with Harry Potter since I was eleven years old," he said, possibly admitting it to himself for the first time. He smiled self-deprecatingly. "Ask anyone who knew us back then. In sixth year, he was equally obsessed with me… although that was solely for 'the cause', of course." Draco laughed as he made air quotes. "A long time to carry a torch, I'll admit."

Teddy sucked in a breath. "Carry a—? You mean you are—?"

Draco grimaced and waved a hand airily. "Yes, Teddy, but you needn't worry. I've barely seen Potter in the past twenty years and I realize he is happily married,  _and_  straight,  _and_  despises me, etcetera, etcetera."

Teddy still looked mortified and Draco's eyes narrowed. "Speak."

"Erm… Well, you are married, too…"

"Don't remind me. I married Martinique to continue the Malfoy line. She is perfectly aware of that fact, and has been since my proposal. I performed my duty, as did she. We have no intention of spending one moment longer than necessary together."

"Then what do you do for—?" Teddy seemed unable to form a complete sentence.

"What do I do for companionship?" Draco finished for him. Teddy nodded. His face was quite red. "What did you do before _you_ took up the gauntlet of abstinence in preparation for your impending engagement?"

Teddy's blush darkened. "Ahem. Never mind. I was simply surprised, is all. I never would have guessed."

Draco smiled. "It's nice to know my poncy behavior is not excessive."

Teddy laughed and visibly relaxed. "Definitely not. So, your fascination with Harry is motivated only by… personal interest?"

"Of course. I keep hoping he will leave his wife and rush into my waiting arms." Teddy choked a laugh and Draco pulled a face. "What? You're saying it's impossible then?"

Teddy stopped trying to hold it in and burst out laughing. Draco smirked, but the boy's laugh was infectious. Draco could not stop himself from joining in and the awkwardness between them dissolved as Draco's laughter erupted. They bonded in mutual hilarity for a few minutes.

"I never thought I'd be able to call you an idiot," Teddy said when he could speak without chuckling.

"Don't let it go to your head," Draco warned. He slung an arm around the boy and they started toward the Manor.

Teddy glanced at him sideways. "Draco, you've never been interested in… well,  _me_ , have you?"

Draco snorted. "A homely lad like you? Honestly." He laughed when Teddy's punch caught him in the midsection. "Why do all straight males assume that every gay male wants to fuck them? Honestly, Teddy, you're barely older than Scorpius. And you're not exactly my type."

"Not heroic enough?"

"Not enough of an insufferable arse."

Teddy slugged him again and Draco winced. The boy didn't seem to know his own strength. Teddy huffed. "Stop maligning my idol."

"He's my object of unrequited lust. Object trumps idol, so I shall malign him all I like."

"You're so weird."

Draco scrubbed a knuckle through the boy's hair as vengeance for the punches. "You don't know the half of it."

When Teddy had gone, Draco walked in the garden alone and wondered when the lad had stopped being Draco's informant and had turned into a genuine friend.

**The Pureblood Club**

Pansy dropped in later in the month, appearing uninvited in Draco's bedroom at an ungodly hour one morning. She tore open all the curtains to admit a ridiculous amount of light.

Draco flung an arm over his eyes.

"You are a hellish bitch, Pansy. Remind me why I have not adjusted the wards to block your ingress."

"Because I'm one of the few people alive that will still talk to you, Draco. It's almost noon, you selfish, lazy prat. Now get up and take me to lunch. I'm famished and bored."

Draco yanked the blankets over his head. "Go downstairs and tell the house-elves to feed you. Let me sleep for another hour."

Pansy tried to pull the covers back, but Draco had a good grip on them. He smirked at her effort. "No, damn you! I want to rub elbows with the unworthy and show off a gorgeous man on my arm. I also want to go shopping."

"I am  _not_  going shopping," Draco growled.

"You will buy me a new pair of boots or I will come back tomorrow morning even earlier. And the morning after. And the morning after that. Now, get up this instant."

Draco threw his covers back with a snarl and sat up. Pansy's eyes slid over him appreciatively. Draco smiled lazily and stretched, having no problem whatsoever with being admired for his attributes, even by an evil succubus with no sense of propriety.

Pansy dragged him to a café in Actu Alley, a part of wizarding London with several businesses that bordered the Channel. Draco thought the food was substandard and the coffee was wretched. He nearly switched to tea, but he thought they might screw that up even worse.

Pansy kept her hand over Draco's for nearly the entire meal and made fake happy greetings to several other patrons. "Pansy, you are not going to impress anyone by being seen with a former Death Eater."

"No one cares about that anymore," she said. "All they know is that you are a beautiful man."

"Can we finish this endless meal? I have business to attend to."

Pansy pouted. "That is all you do, Draco. You never have any fun any more."

Draco grimaced. "Your idea of fun and mine are leagues apart."

"Not so far, I think. I've joined a new club and I want you to come with me tonight. I think you'll be properly entertained." Draco rolled his eyes and Pansy slapped his hand lightly. "Don't be that way. Come for a drink, at least. You want to know the fun part? It's a pureblood club."

Draco burst out laughing. "What is fun about that? How many members are there? Six?"

"You would be surprised," she said. Something in her tone made Draco's eyes narrow. He waited expectantly. "Your little obsession's wife is a member."

Draco did not bother to ask to whom Pansy referred. Pansy always had known Draco better than he knew himself. He sat back, contemplating her information. So, Ginny Weasley-Potter had joined a little pureblood club. Draco wondered what her hero husband thought of it, or if he even knew. Pansy would not have brought it up at all unless she thought Draco would find the information useful. Asking Pansy would gain him nothing. She would just smile at him cagily.

"All right," he said. "I'll come with you."

~~*~~

Draco was annoyed before they even arrived. Pansy had appeared with an idiotic uniform for him to wear in an effort to provide anonymity, or some such nonsense. It consisted of a white silk shirt, buttonless, that fell open to his navel, topped with a hooded black cape. Black trousers covered his legs—thank Merlin—he would have balked completely at loungewear. A white half-mask concealed his face. Only his mouth and chin were left exposed.

"This is ridiculous," Draco said. "Although you look fetching."

Pansy's mask and cape were the same as Draco's, but instead of shirt and trousers, she wore a white corset with a wisp of black silk skirt. A smile curved her red lips. "You look gorgeous, darling. I would suggest staying in, if only I were your type."

Draco smiled winningly. Pansy had known Draco's preferences nearly as long as Draco himself.

She added, "Perhaps I'll find a new boy toy tonight, and you can find a… Potter look-alike?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Stop, already. I'm not that obsessed with Potter."

She arched a brow. He could tell, even though her mask hid it. "Really? So you don't actually pay Greg to keep you posted on Potter's whereabouts whenever he is at the Ministry?"

Draco flushed. Damn Goyle and his inability to keep his fucking mouth shut. Then again, Pansy could pry state secrets from the Minister himself, if she so chose.

"I just like to keep an eye on the obnoxious git, in case he decides to fuck with my life, or something."

She smiled knowingly. "Or something. You had best take off your rings. They are fairly recognizable."

Draco sighed, but obediently plucked off the diamond and emerald ring that was his favorite, his grandfather's antique ring formed of snakes entwined in a complicated Celtic knot, and the plain platinum wedding band. The Malfoy signet could not be removed without dire consequences; instead he twisted it around so the emerald and the stylized M faced his palm, leaving only the platinum band exposed. He handed the cast-offs to a house-elf, who disappeared to deposit them in Draco's bedchamber. "Shall we go?" he asked.

Pansy Apparated them to a large house that bore a remarkable similarity to Malfoy Manor. It sat in the midst of what seemed to be several deserted acres of land. Draco studied the area carefully but the place could have sat nearly anywhere in Britain. The weather was still warm and it was a clear, perfect night. The house was opulent on the exterior, with colonnades and brickwork, wrought iron, and elaborate scrollwork. Light spilled onto the manicured grass through several windows as they approached the front steps.

There were two hooded and masked wizards flanking the front doors. They cast several spells on Draco and Pansy—the first to detect their pureblood status, the next to detect weapons or malicious spells. Two others had a purpose unknown to Draco, but he quickly memorized them in order to look them up when he returned home.

Once past the gauntlet, they entered a dimly lit room that looked like a converted ballroom. Several tables had been set up for cards, dice, and other games of chance. A roulette wheel spun lazily at one end of the room, flanked by a number of cheering witches and wizards dressed the same as Draco and Pansy. Trays floated about the room, laden with an assortment of drinks and hors de oeuvres. Pansy snagged a glass of champagne for herself and a snifter of cognac for Draco. He sipped at it and was reluctantly impressed with the quality.

"Who funds this club?" he asked.

Pansy shrugged. "We all do, for the most part. The dues are bloody insane. But the original patron is unknown. News and events are posted in the front parlour."

"What sort of events?"

"Costume balls, alternate locations for meetings, that sort of thing," she said, but her voice carried the evasive tone that Draco recognized at once. He looked at her sharply, wondering what she was hiding, but she nudged him with an elbow. He followed her gaze across the room to a winding staircase. A man glided down the steps and made his way straight to Draco. Mask or not, Draco recognized him immediately. The particular tint of his skin was fairly unique.

"Draco Malfoy," the man murmured and leaned forward to place a light kiss on Draco's lips.

"Zabini," Draco replied.

Blaise traced a finger gently over Draco's chest, following the faint line of the Potter-induced scar, barely visible after all these years. "So formal, Draco? After all we've been through? Good to see you, anyway. I had hoped Pansy would talk you into joining us one day." Blaise stopped touching Draco, although his amber eyes held Draco's gaze as he moved closer to Pansy. He looked away and kissed Pansy on the cheek. "Pansy, darling, you look lovely, as usual."

"You're charming as ever, Blaise."

Blaise stepped back and chuckled. "All right, that's enough with the names. We're supposed to be anonymous here, right?"

"You started it," Pansy muttered and sipped her champagne.

Blaise reached out and touched Draco's jaw with a cool hand. He slid his thumb over Draco's lower lip. "I hope to see you later," he purred. Draco smiled like a predator and watched Blaise stride across the room to accost his next victim.

"Fucker," Pansy hissed.

"Broke your heart, did he, Pans?" Draco murmured.

She snorted. "What about yours?" she countered. Draco shrugged. It had been a near thing. The bastard was still gorgeous, with his lovely skin and perfect smile. Draco had nearly fallen, but Blaise had gotten careless. Draco demanded exclusivity in his lovers. Blaise had known that, and had promised quite fervently that he would be faithful. Naturally, he had lied like a Death Eater. Draco had not allowed affection to cloud his natural distrust of all things Slytherin, and he had caught Blaise in no less than three affairs. It had been disappointing, but not unexpected. Draco thought it unlikely that Blaise even understood the concept of fidelity.

Draco allowed Pansy to coax him into a game of wizard whist, playing against a hapless couple that was completely outclassed by the ruthless former Slytherins. Draco was quickly bored once the game ended. Pansy caught him edging towards the door more than once and finally she murmured, "Patience," in a singsong voice. Draco sighed and resigned himself to waiting for Pansy's grand revelation.

His patience was rewarded when Pansy straightened. Draco casually got to his feet and shifted until he could see the person arousing Pansy's attention. The newcomer was instantly recognizable. She was dressed much like Pansy—white corset, white mask, and the voluminous black cape that covered her head nearly completely. The freckles dotting the pale skin of her chest gave away her identity, at least to Draco. Ginny Weasley-Potter.

Draco was curious, so he left Pansy and sauntered over to Potter's wife. Her small breasts were pushed nearly out of the corset top and her lips were bright red. Draco checked his own hood to ensure his hair was fully covered.

"Bon soir, Mademoiselle," Draco said softly, altering his voice slightly and affecting a French accent.

Ginny smiled prettily. Draco could not see much of her face, but she looked to have aged well. Her body was in fine shape, at any rate.

"Good evening, sir," she said pleasantly. Her blue eyes sized him up and her smile widened.

"This is my first time here," Draco said. "I feel a little out of place."

She put out a hand to touch his arm. "Would you like me to show you around?" she asked. Draco smiled and agreed, mentally patting himself on the back. She was far too relaxed to have recognized him. She ushered Draco around the room, pointing out the various gaming tables and points of interest while asking him questions about himself. Draco made up a colorful history about a life in France and the possibility of moving to Britain. He allowed his fingers to trail up her arm now and again, and was disappointed when she drew away each time. She finally frowned at him when he leaned close to her.

"Excuse me, Monsieur," she said, "but I have monopolized enough of your time. It was nice to meet you."

She patted his hand in a friendly gesture and moved away into the bustle of bodies. Music had started in one dark corner of the room and several couples were dancing. Draco made his way back to Pansy.

"Bludger to the head?" Pansy asked dryly.

"Nearly," Draco replied, somewhat disappointed. He had hoped to lure Mrs Potter… if not into his bed, then quite close to it, merely for the opportunity of breaking the news to the Chosen One. Apparently, the little vixen was only here to play cards and mingle with the other happy purebloods. Maybe it was time for Draco to stop obsessing over Potter and get on with his life. The thought made him want to retch. "Can we go now?"

"Certainly," Pansy said and stood up. She fussed with her cape for an inordinate amount of time, until Draco was ready to snatch her wrist and drag her bodily from the building. She finally started for the doors, only to stop just short of freedom. She turned. "Draco, dear, I think I left my handbag in the powder room."

Draco scowled. "You did not bring a handbag."

"I'm certain I did."

"You did not."

Her lips tightened obstinately. "I did. Go and fetch it for me."

He glared at her, knowing she could argue long into the night. "What does the nonexistent thing look like?" he snarled. She described a tiny, black, beaded, bejeweled, Merlin-knew-what else, bloody handbag, and Draco stalked down the hall toward the alleged powder room. Halfway there, he halted in shock.

Blaise Zabini and Ginny Potter were locked in a heated embrace, kissing madly against the brocade wall of the dark hallway. Draco made an apology in French and turned away. Ginny had stiffened and tried to push Blaise away, but Zabini did not even pause. His hands were beneath the corset and his lips moved to Ginny's pale throat. Draco looked back once, to find her hands wrapped in Blaise's dark hair—apparently satisfied that her anonymity was safe.

Pansy waited with her arms crossed. Her lips were curved in a smirk. "Well?" she asked dryly.

"You're _such_ a bitch," Draco said, but took her arm to escort her outside.

"Seeing is believing," she replied. Draco had to agree. He might not have believed her if he had not seen the proof with his own eyes. Potter's wife was having an affair with Blaise Zabini.

Rather than the expected elation, Draco found himself curiously depressed.

**~~*~~**

Draco was ranting. He knew he was ranting, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He had imbibed three glasses of cognac at that stupid pureblood club and the alcohol was making free with his tongue.

"How could she?" he demanded, striding across his bedchamber and waving his fourth glass of cognac, because this news simply demanded a drink. He had shucked the foolish mask and cape and shirt, leaving only the black trousers. His bare feet made no sound on the thick silk carpet, which was almost disappointing. He felt the need to stomp loudly. "I mean, I always knew she didn't deserve him, but to do  _this_? With Blaise Zabini, of all people?"

Pansy lounged on Draco's bed, sans cape and mask. "Oh come now, Draco. You and I both succumbed to Blaise's charms. How do you expect the little Weaslette to be different?"

Draco sipped his drink and glared at her. "Because she's a Gryffindor. Because of Potter. I don't know! Because she's supposed to uphold all those morals and ideals they all hold so dear. Because… because…" His voice trailed off and he finished quietly, "Because it's Potter."

Pansy sighed. "Draco, I worry about you. You were always obsessed with Potter. When did you become smitten?"

Draco looked into the flickering fire, not willing to meet her eyes. If he did, he would feel like an idiot. He wasn't smitten with Potter, he really wasn't. Maybe he was a bit smitten with the  _idea_  of Potter. "Well, he'd never do that to her," he said instead of answering her question.

"Of course not. The Golden Boy can do no wrong. Everyone knows that. Hell, I tried to seduce him myself once."

" _What_?" Draco demanded, turning on her so quickly a bit of the cognac splashed onto his hand.

She held up a hand. "Down Draco! I said  _tried_. It was years ago, at one of those dull Ministry functions. I went with that Ravenclaw fellow with the golden hair, the one that works in the Games and Sports Department… what was his name?" She must have noted Draco's expression, for she hurried on with her explanation. "Anyway, I got roaringly drunk and accosted Potter in a dark alcove. I used every trick in the book, but the noble bastard simply escorted me back to… whatever his name was… and explained that I had imbibed too much and should probably be escorted home. He even managed to do it without making me feel cheap and tawdry."

"You are cheap and tawdry," Draco growled.

"Tawdry, perhaps, but  _never_  cheap. Besides, you're just angry because I dared to make a move on your little crush."

"Moved and snubbed," Draco said, a bit smugly.

"Indeed. I doubt even Blaise could crack Potter."

Draco sat down heavily on a nearby chair, realizing the truth of her words. Blaise would definitely fail against Potter, just as Pansy had failed. And if those two could never move Potter, Draco had less than no chance at all, regardless of the fact that Potter's wife was betraying him. Draco could not even tell him, because even if Potter believed him—and he would not—then he would simply hate Draco the more for breaking the news.

"This is fucked," Draco said.

Pansy made a noise of assent and snuggled into Draco's pillow. He knew she had no intention of moving from his bed. "'Night, Draco," she said.

Draco sighed and spelled the lights out. "Goodnight, Pans."

He got up and went to seek out another bed.

 

**First Year**

Their first year at Hogwarts did not see Scorpius Malfoy invested as the Hufflepuff king. Whenever Albus asked about it, Score would smile mysteriously and say things like, "Patience, Al, this is not a Hufflepuff plot", and "All things in the fullness of time."

Despite that, Al was content. His first year at Hogwarts was blissful for the most part. He spent nearly every waking moment with Scorpius. The only time they weren't together was breakfast on Saturday and Sunday, since Score insisted on sleeping late. Al would trip down to the Great Hall and sit with his Gryffindor relatives. Most of them had stopped teasing him by the second month, with the exception of James, of course.

Al and Score were nearly always hand in hand, as one of them seemed to be constantly dragging the other along. Evenings found them in the Hufflepuff common room huddled on the sofa together. Score would read or work on homework. Al would pretend to study until he fell asleep on Score's shoulder and eventually Score would wake him for the trek to their room. More often than not, they slept on the same bed, albeit at opposite ends. Albus invariably fell asleep on Score's bed, and Scorpius would levitate the blankets from Al's bed to cover him. Al figured he'd spent more time in Score's bed than his own.

They became commonly known as Malfoy and his Shadow, partially due to Score's insistence that they dress the part. Scorpius wore yellow at all times, from palest gold to deepest buttercup, and insisted that Al wear primarily black. Al didn't mind, accepting Score's assurance that he looked awful in yellow, and he rather liked it when everyone stopped calling him Malfoy's Shadow and simply referred to him as Shadow. It made him feel rather sinister and ominous.

Al and Score took all their classes together and Al's ambidexterity turned out to be an unexpected benefit. Al used whatever hand happened to be closest to his wand to cast spells, earning envious glares from Score. "You're a lucky git, Al. I can barely cast a Lumos with my left hand," Score admitted.

Al grinned. "You sound like James. He's always hated me for being able to use both hands."

Score sniffed haughtily. "I refuse to have anything in common with James Potter. And I certainly don't hate you."

"Good, because I like you far better than James and if you start acting like him I will have to hex you. With both hands."

"You'd have to catch me first," Scorpius said and bolted. Al bellowed and charged after him. Their merry game of tag turned into an evening of detention when they accidentally mowed down Madam Hooch on the third floor landing. Of course, Al didn't really consider it punishment stuck in the broom shed all evening, polishing school brooms and arguing with Score over what Quidditch team would take the next World Cup. Al could not think of anywhere he would rather be.

~~*~~

Summer was horrible. First the Malfoys went on holiday to China, of all places. Score said it had something to do with his father's business. His mother did not accompany them. Score sent Al dozens of postcards and letters, most of which stated how utterly bored he was with China. Al grinned at Score's whining tone. He knew his friend didn't hate it nearly as much as he complained. Scorpius adored his father. Al thought he was terribly lucky to be able to spend so much time alone with his dad. Al always had to share with James and Lily. Time alone with his dad was rare. In fact, time at all with his dad was rare. Al's father worked long hours and was often gone for days at a time. Score had barely returned from China when Al's family decided on a spontaneous holiday. At least, it seemed spontaneous to Al, who had heard his parents arguing about it for weeks, but he had not actually expected his father to take time off from work.

So it was that the Potters packed and took a Portkey to Greece, where they walked through ancient ruins and looked out over the sparkling Mediterranean during the long, hot days. At night their parents argued about Al's father "going through the motions" and "wishing he was back at work". Al knew just how he felt. Al wished they were back home, too. He was sick of James trying to push him into dry cisterns and Lily whining about how her feet hurt. He was tired of his parents fighting when they thought Al and the others were asleep and he was bothered by their façade of happiness during the day. Mostly, Al just missed Score.

Al wished the Malfoys and Potters were friends, but the name "Malfoy" seemed to be taboo in the Potter household. Anytime Al mentioned Scorpius his mother's mouth would tighten and she would look at Al with disapproval. "I don't think it's a very good idea for you to get too close to that Malfoy boy, Al," she had said once.

"Why?" Al had asked. His mother had mentioned something like "bad blood" and rushed off to rescue Lily from pulling down a bookshelf. Al had vowed never to mention Score to her again.

Al's father wasn't much better. He didn't seem to mind Al talking about Scorpius, but he always got a strange look on his face and his eyes would go to the dusty black box that sat on the mantle. It had been there for Al's entire life, and probably before that. Al had opened the case a few times and knew it contained a wand—one made of very dark wood. No one ever used it and whenever Al asked to whom it belonged, his parents would always say, "No one." He supposed it was true, since it was never used.

When the Potters returned from their enforced holiday, Al and Score sent owls to each other, and met four times in Diagon Alley during trips they managed to coordinate. Al could hardly wait for second year.

**Resolutions**

Draco tried to forget about Potter. He decided that the affair between Zabini and Potter's wife was none of his concern. Martinique made a brief appearance to pick up Scorpius from the Hogwarts Express at the end of term, and actually sat in the Manor library and listened to several of Scorpius's tales from his first year of school. Scorpius happily included her in his conversation and it was almost like they were a real family, an image that disturbed Draco slightly. Martinique was gone by morning, however, so her brief flash of maternal instinct had apparently not been overly strong. Draco hated the expression of disappointment on his son's face the next day when he found his mother had fled once more, but Draco was glad of her absence. He decided to make up for her disappearance by taking Scorpius to China.

Draco had business in Hong Kong, but he made certain to spend most of his time with Scorpius. They explored ancient towns, studied centuries-old wizarding lore, sought out the hidden places in the Great Wall, and ate a lot of unfamiliar foods. Draco even bought Scorpius an authentic Samurai sword, which he swung about fiendishly until he nearly lopped off Draco's foot by accident, after which the sword was relegated to its burnished wooden case for safekeeping.

His son sent a huge number of letters and postcards to his friend Albus, and Draco was nearly sorry for dragging the boy halfway across the world. When they finally returned home, the Potters were gone. Vacationing in Greece, according to Teddy, who made things a bit easier by teaching Scorpius several Quidditch moves and taking him to Diagon Alley several times.

When the Potters returned, Teddy's visits lessened due to Potter leaping back into work and apparently dragging the entire Auror Department with him. Scorpius made several "clandestine" visits to Diagon Alley to be with his friend Albus. Draco nearly choked one day when Scorpius asked if he hated Harry Potter. Draco explained carefully that he did not, in fact, hate Harry Potter. Scorpius seemed far too interested in the subject for comfort. It appeared that his son's friendship with Albus Potter had not diminished with the time spent apart. If anything, they seemed more determined than ever to be together. Draco tried not to worry about that.

It was quite bad enough that they were both in Hufflepuff.

~~*~~

Scorpius made the Hufflepuff Quidditch team as Seeker, which had Draco in quite a good mood until Martinique accosted him in a public café. Draco had more than one informant in the Ministry, in fact, he had close to a dozen, although most of them had no idea they were moles—they simply met with Draco and politely listened while he tried to sway them to his point of view. They had no inkling that he rarely cared about political motivation one way or the other, he simply liked to know everything that was going on, especially things that might concern Harry James Potter.

They would listen politely as Draco concocted whatever story he thought they wanted to hear and then they would invariably spew a wealth of information. Even gossip could be a useful tool when properly utilized.

Martinique appeared suddenly, looking ragged and out of sorts. Draco had not seen her since her cursory appearance to escort Scorpius back to school. He had assumed her to be in Argentina or Brazil or somewhere. She had not even greeted him properly, nor acknowledged the man from the Department of International Magical Cooperation seated across from him. She plopped herself into a chair like a simple hoyden and said, "I need money, Draco."

Draco was furious, although he was careful to keep his expression neutral. "We should discuss this in a more private setting, darling," he said quietly.

"I don't want a more private setting!" Martinique shouted. "I am tired of this arrangement of yours! I need more than I'm getting from this fucked up scheme of a marriage, and if all you can give me is money, then so be it!"

The other café patrons looked at them quizzically, drawn by her raised voice. Draco smiled like a shark and apologized to the Ministry official before casting a Silencing Charm on Martinique and Summoning her wand. She leaped at him in a rage and her fingers to claw for his throat. Draco grabbed her hand and Apparated them to the Manor.

A screaming row of epic proportion ensued and Draco banished Martinique from the premises. He arranged for a veritable fortune to be delivered to a French bank account in her name and then set about divorcing the shrewish bitch. Purebloods did not divorce. It simply was not done. However, Lucius was dead, Narcissa despised Martinique, and Draco did not give a shite what anyone else in the wizarding community thought of him. He altered the wards on the Manor to forbid her ever entering again and said a cheerful adieu to Martinique Malfoy. He thought it a pity he could not strip his name from her, but supposed it was a small price to pay to be rid of her forever.

He drafted two letters. One to Hogwarts instructing the Headmistress that Martinique was not allowed to visit Scorpius under any circumstances. The second was sent to the Daily Prophet, informing them that his wife was moving to the south of France for her health. News of the divorce would make the rounds soon enough. Draco planned to stave off the rumors as long as possible, for Scorpius's sake. Some of the purebloods at school would gladly use the news as a weapon. For the first time, Draco was glad his son was not in Slytherin.

~~*~~

Draco thought his determination to forget about Harry Potter was quite successful. Granted, he still kept tabs on Potter, but it was purely from habit. He had grown fond of Teddy, who dropped by at least weekly to give Draco a play by play of his latest case with Potter. As Draco listened with half an ear, Teddy let it slip that Potter was working like a demented fiend and hinted that perhaps things were not exactly roses with Potter's home life.

Draco perked up immediately. "What's that? Are you saying there is strife in the household of the Great Potter?"

Teddy flushed, and Draco could tell the lad was sorry he had mentioned it. "Harry is not going to leave Ginny," Teddy said flatly.

Draco blinked. "It is really that bad?" he asked, feeling somewhat guilty. Draco had not returned to the foolish pureblood club, whose official name he could never recall, but Pansy made sure to keep him posted as to the "Zabini situation", as she called it. Draco had been quite surprised to find that Blaise was still entertaining Potter's spouse. Draco had expected Blaise to toss her long ago. Draco decided it must be the thrill of pulling one over on the Savior of the Wizarding World that kept Blaise interested.

"Never mind. I shouldn't have mentioned it," Teddy said. "Harry just… well, he's been working too much. I don't think Ginny likes it."

"Understandable. Perhaps he should take time off."

Teddy shrugged. "They went to Greece over the summer. It didn't seem to help."

Draco would imagine not, with Potter's wife pining away for Zabini the whole time. It could not have made for a happy holiday. Teddy seemed to shake himself. "Anyway, Victoire and I have set a date! Are you happy for me?"

"You mean despite the fact that marriage is the most wretched arrangement any person can enter into?" Draco asked.

Teddy laughed. "You must admit that your marriage was far from normal."

Draco bit his tongue to keep from replying,  _Yes, but Potter's was, and look what that got him_. He shrugged instead and grinned at the pale-haired boy.

"All right then, I'm happy for you. When is the wedding, am I invited, and what sort of horrendously expensive wedding gift are you expecting?"

"The wedding is next spring, of course you are invited, and I'm not expecting any gift at all, other than your presence."

Draco gave Teddy a genuine smile, oddly touched. "All right then, I shall cross the expensive gift off my list and have the house-elves dust off some of the old, useless silver in the storage room. How does that sound?"

"It sounds perfect." Teddy smiled fondly.

Draco waved him away. "Begone from here. Your stupidity might be contagious."

**Opening Gambit**

Scorpius Malfoy unleashed his strategy to become the Hufflepuff king as soon as their second year began. He announced his plan to Al on the Hogwarts Express.

"We'll both join the Quidditch team. We couldn't do it last year since we were too young, but this will be the beginning of our bid for greatness."

"How do you know we'll make the team?" Al asked worriedly. Score laughed before punching him on the arm.

"Come on, Al! Think of our parents! Your father was the youngest Seeker in a century. To hear some tell it, he could have been the best Seeker  _ever_. Your mum played Quidditch too, right? And my father was a Seeker. To hear him tell it, he could have beaten your father if not for all that Dark Lord business that kept your dad from playing. Either way, it's in our blood."

Al acknowledged that Score had a point. Quidditch was a popular sport amongst the Potters and Weasleys. Al had been riding a broom since he could walk, and playing Quidditch since he could fly.

"Did you find out why your father hates mine?" Al asked, thinking of their parents.

Scorpius grinned. "Yes, and it was very strange. I asked him why he hated Harry Potter and he looked quite surprised, and then he gave me that look he has when he's telling me something he doesn't really want me to know. And then he said, 'I don't hate Potter. Who told you that?' So I admitted that I might have overheard him ranting about 'the Great Potter' a few times, and he scowled and said that 'just because he thought someone was a glory-seeking, overrated, crass, oblivious half-wit did not mean he hated the git.' I made sure to write all that down."

"Wow, he said all that about my dad?"

"Yeah, and the odd thing is that he talks about your father all the time. I never really noticed until I met you. I'll bet he knows everything about Harry Potter. He certainly complains about him a lot, and he has a huge assortment of names for him. I didn't write those down—there were too many and most were not very nice."

"I asked my dad if he hated yours, too. He sat down on the couch and got all serious and put his hand on my shoulder. He said, 'Of course not, Al. I don't hate anyone. What gave you the idea I hated Malfoy?' I told him it was James, of course, because… well I can blame James for just about anything and my parents always buy it."

"That's because James is a prat ninety-seven percent of the time."

"True. Anyway, my dad said he didn't hate your dad, and that Draco Malfoy was just misunderstood. He said that no one ever really gave him a chance."

Score's eyebrows rose. "He said that? It almost sounds like your father actually  _likes_  my father."

"It does, doesn't it? And since your dad said he doesn't hate my dad, maybe they'll let us see each other during the holidays!"

Score nodded. "Maybe we should start with  _your_  dad, since he seems more sincere with the 'I don't hate him' story."

"I'll mention it to him when I write. We might as well get started now if we plan to see each other during Christmas."

"Christmas won't work for us this year, since Father plans to take me to Switzerland over the holiday. But we will plan on next summer for certain. That will be your assignment, other than achieving a position on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Things will be looking up for us this year, Al." Score dragged Al close with an arm around his shoulders, and his knuckles dragged through Al's hair, messing it up more than it already was. Al gave him an elbow to the stomach and Score laughed while he made a show of smoothing down Al's hair. He didn't take his arm from Al's shoulders and Al rested his head against Score's neck.

The door to their car slid open and James marched in and sneered at them. "You two are so weird. Why are you always draped all over each other?"

"Jealous, Potter?" Score retorted easily as James threw himself in the seat across from them.

Al's brother rolled his eyes. "Couple of ponces. Where's Rose?"

Al said, "She stopped to have a chin wag with some of her girlfriends. Have you seen Amber and Zephyr?"

"No, I haven't seen any of your stupid Hufflepuff friends."

Several of James' friends burst into the car then, and the Gryffindors thankfully rushed off to have a look at some pretty new girl in a compartment farther along. Rose and her much quieter friends entered, as well as Amber and Zephyr Abbott. Al had dubbed the twins 'Score's Fan Club'.

"Hi Score. Hi Shadow," the girls intoned together. One of the girls sat by Score and one by Al to make a Hufflepuff sandwich. Score and the girls made small talk and Al found himself drifting off to sleep, as usually happened whenever he leaned on Score's shoulder.

~~*~~

As Score had predicted, they both made the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Madam Hooch had been delighted to see them both on the team, and mentioned she would be heartily glad to avoid the old Malfoy/Potter rivalry from the old days. Al had never seen Score on a broom and the sight was breathtaking. He looked like a golden blur, chasing the Snitch. His dives and turns were pure grace in motion. Al was quick too, but his specialty was aerial acrobatics. He managed some somersaults and rolls that had the other Hufflepuffs shouting with astonishment.

Score hovered near Al on his broom. They watched while another Hufflepuff zoomed across the field and Score looked at Al. "How did you learn to maneouver like that, Al?" he asked with a grin.

"Are you kidding? James's idea of Quidditch is braining me with a Bludger or knocking me off my broom. He never even  _tries_  to score. I can avoid nearly anything."

"They'll probably make you a Chaser, then."

Al nodded. He didn't care what position he got, as long as he could play.

~~*~~

"We made the team! Score is Seeker and I'm Keeper!" Al told Rose excitedly. She rolled her eyes. Rose would rather sit in the corner and read a book than even  _watch_  a Quidditch game. It was strange, really.

"You should see Al!" Score added. "With his moves there is no way anyone will get the Quaffle into the goal! We'll have the House Cup this year, for certain."

"You haven't played a single game," Rose pointed out dryly, twisting a strand of her frizzy red hair around a finger.

"Let's go find James!" Al said excitedly. "I want to rub it in his face that we're both on the team!"

**Quidditch and Questions**

The Hufflepuff team slaughtered the others in Quidditch. Scorpius was an astounding Seeker. The Gryffindors had excellent teamwork, but their Seeker was simply not quick enough. To top it off, it was a rare day when the Quaffle could make it past Albus Potter, so the other teams could not even hope to drive the score up before Scorpius caught the Snitch. Hufflepuff started the Quiddith season undefeated, and stayed that way.

In one game, Score played wickedly, keeping the Gryffindor Seeker away from the Snitch rather that snatching it, merely to prolong the game. Sean Finnegan, a Gryffindor Beater, charged Scorpius after the game, accusing him of "Slytherin tactics." Score laughed and flicked the golden edge of his cape toward Finnegan, who was restrained by his other teammates at the approach of Madam Hooch.

" _Hufflepuff_  tactics," Score had said deliberately.

"Slytherin in Hufflepuff clothing," James muttered, glaring at Al, but Al merely beamed and slung an arm around Score's shoulders. He thought Score was simply brilliant. Besides, he hadn't done anything wrong. The Gryffindors should be glad they had got to play longer. Score could have caught the Snitch in the first ten minutes of the game.

James was in a fine snit the next morning. Al sat down to breakfast at the Gryffindor table. James glared over the heaping plate of bacon and toast. "Why do you always sit here? Shouldn't you be with your Hufflepuff followers? And where is your Evil Overlord?"

Al grabbed a handful of bacon and a few pieces of toast. "Dad says I can sit wherever I want. You already know Score likes to sleep in on Sundays." He grinned. "But I'll be sure to mention the Overlord thing. He'll probably have badges made."

James rolled his eyes. "God, you two are such freaks. Poncy freaks, at that."

"Stop it, James," Rose said, giving him a  _look_  over the Daily Prophet. She read the paper every morning, to keep abreast of things. Al and most of the Gryffindors relied on her for news. "I like it when Al sits here. We'd never see him otherwise."

James muttered something about "seeing the bloody git's face for the past twelve years" but he settled down in his seat and concentrated on his food. Sean Finnegan entered and sneered at Al as he took a seat next to James. Rose leaned close to Al.

"Has Scorpius mentioned anything about his mother?" she asked quietly.

Al looked at her in confusion and shook his head. "No. Why would he?" Come to think of it, Score had never mentioned his mother at all, as far as Al could recall. It came as a bit of a shock to find he even  _had_  a mother. Al had always assumed she was dead. "Er… is she alive?"

Rose looked scandalized for a moment. "I thought he was your best friend, Al. How could you not know? Anyway, the gossip columns are generally filled with tripe, but sometimes they contain titbits of truth. This article says Draco Malfoy's wife is moving to the south of France for health reasons. It says Score's dad plans to stay here and continue to run the Malfoy Empire. I thought you might know more of the story."

Al bit his lip. He wondered if Score's mum was ill. Score had never said anything, so maybe it was serious. Score liked to keep serious things to himself; Al always had to drag important issues out of him. Al gnawed on his lip and wondered if Score was worried about his mum. If anything happened to Al's mum, he'd be plenty worried, especially if she had to move to the Continent because of it.

"That seems really personal," Al said softly. "Why is it in the paper?"

Rose shrugged. "It's always news when rich pureblood families have troubles. People love to rub their noses in it. I think it makes them feel better about their own lives."

Al rose indignantly to Score's defense. "Well, that's just wrong! It's none of their business!" It was technically none of Al's business, either, but he figured he might try to pry some information out of Scorpius for his own good. If Score suppressed some secret pain, Al would damn well make sure he dealt with it. Dad always said it was better to get things out in the open, because lying to yourself was just as bad as lying to others. Even worse, sometimes. Funny, but Al had never really understood that until now.

He didn't broach the subject until later that morning, when Score finally dragged himself out of bed and curled up next to Al on the sofa in the Hufflepuff common room. Al had brought back a plate of food and a pot of tea, just like he did every time Score slept in. Score rested his head against Al's shoulder and opened his mouth for Al to feed him bits of food. Al had to laugh. For such a dynamo of energy, Scorpius was almost ridiculously lethargic in the morning. He could barely function without two strong cups of tea and plenty of sugar.

Ethan Martinson, seated in a chair near the fireplace, made a snorting noise and mentioned something about Al being Score's personal house-elf. Score pointed his wand at Martinson and said, "Out, unless you plan never to have children."

It took a moment for Score's threat to sink it, but when it did, Ethan's eyes widened and he bolted. Al grinned. He didn't like Ethan very much.

"Jealous twit," Score grumbled. "Wants his own personal house-elf like mine."

Al socked him on the arm and Score chuckled. Then Al fed him a couple more bites of food, despite the house-elf comment.

"Score, is there something wrong with your mother?" Al asked quietly.

Score stiffened against Al's side and moved away to look at him strangely. "What do you mean?"

Al sighed. "There was something in the Daily Prophet this morning about your mother moving to France. For her health, it says. I didn't even know your mother was… well, you've never mentioned her."

Score sneered. "I barely have a mother. She is in London more than she's home. All she does is plan parties and buy clothing." Score raised an eyebrow and looked thoughtful. "Moving to France? I wonder if Father finally gave her the boot."

Al was scandalized. He couldn't imagine his father giving his mother  _the boot_. Then again, he really couldn't picture his red-haired mother planning parties or buying clothing either. She normally just puttered around the house, cooking and taking care of Lily.

"Do your parents argue a lot?" Al asked.

"They've got to be in the same room to argue, don't they? I think my parents prefer to pretend the other doesn't exist."

Al could hardly fathom such a family, although maybe ignoring each other would be preferable to the arguments his parents got into. Al's mother had quite a temper and she was quick to fly into a screaming rage. His quiet father would only put up with it for so long before bellowing back at her. At those times, Al and Lily would run into James's room and the three of them would huddle together, hoping the hexes did not start flying.

Al wondered if his parents got along better now that he and James were in school.


End file.
